Taras Bulba and Other Tales

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that of a river swan, and a snowy neck and shoulders, and all that iscreated for rapturous kisses.

"Hey there, lads! only draw him to the forest, entice him to theforest for me!" shouted Taras. Instantly thirty of the smartestCossacks volunteered to entice him thither; and setting their tallcaps firmly spurred their horses straight at a gap in the hussars.They attacked the front ranks in flank, beat them down, cut them offfrom the rear ranks, and slew many of them. Golopuitenko struck Andriion the back with his sword, and immediately set out to ride away atthe top of his speed. How Andrii flew after him! How his young bloodcoursed through all his veins! Driving his sharp spurs into hishorse's flanks, he tore along after the Cossacks, never glancing back,and not perceiving that only twenty men at the most were followinghim. The Cossacks fled at full gallop, and directed their coursestraight for the forest. Andrii overtook them, and was on the point ofcatching Golopuitenko, when a powerful hand seized his horse's bridle.Andrii looked; before him stood Taras! He trembled all over, andturned suddenly pale, like a student who, receiving a blow on theforehead with a ruler, flushes up like fire, springs in wrath from hisseat to chase his comrade, and suddenly encounters his teacherentering the classroom; in the instant his wrathful impulse calms downand his futile anger vanishes. In this wise, in an instant, Andrii'swrath was as if it had never existed. And he beheld before him onlyhis terrible father.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" said Taras, looking him straightin the eyes. But Andrii could make no reply to this, and stood withhis eyes fixed on the ground.

"Well, son; did your Lyakhs help you?"

Andrii made no answer.

"To think that you should be such a traitor! that you should betrayyour faith! betray your comrades! Dismount from your horse!"

Obedient as a child, he dismounted, and stood before Taras more deadthan alive.

"Stand still, do not move! I gave you life, I will also kill you!"said Taras, and, retreating a step backwards, he brought his gun up tohis shoulder. Andrii was white as a sheet; his lips moved gently, andhe uttered a name; but it was not the name of his native land, nor ofhis mother, nor his brother; it was the name of the beautiful Pole.Taras fired.

Like the ear of corn cut down by the reaping-hook, like the young lambwhen it feels the deadly steel in its heart, he hung his head androlled upon the grass without uttering a word.

The murderer of his son stood still, and gazed long upon the lifelessbody. Even in death he was very handsome; his manly face, so short atime ago filled with power, and with an irresistible charm for everywoman, still had a marvellous beauty; his black brows, like sombrevelvet, set off his pale features.

"Is he not a true Cossack?" said Taras; "he is tall of stature, andblack-browed, his face is that of a noble, and his hand was strong inbattle! He is fallen! fallen without glory, like a vile dog!"

"Father, what have you done? Was it you who killed him?" said Ostap,coming up at this moment.

Taras nodded.

Ostap gazed intently at the dead man. He was sorry for his brother,and said at once: "Let us give him honourable burial, father, that thefoe may not dishonour his body, nor the birds of prey rend it."

"They will bury him without our help," said Taras; "there will beplenty of mourners and rejoicers for him."

And he reflected for a couple of minutes, whether he should fling himto the wolves for prey, or respect in him the bravery which everybrave man is bound to honour in another, no matter whom? Then he sawGolopuitenko galloping towards them and crying: "Woe, hetman, theLyakhs have been reinforced, a fresh force has come to their rescue!"Golopuitenko had not finished speaking when Vovtuzenko galloped up:"Woe, hetman! a fresh force is bearing down upon us."

Vovtuzenko had not finished speaking when Pisarenko rushed up withouthis horse: "Where are you, father? The Cossacks are seeking for you.Hetman Nevelitchkiy is killed, Zadorozhniy is killed, andTcherevitchenko: but the Cossacks stand their ground; they will notdie without looking in your eyes; they want you to gaze upon them oncemore before the hour of death arrives."

"To horse, Ostap!" said Taras, and hastened to find his Cossacks, tolook once more upon them, and let them behold their hetman once morebefore the hour of death. But before they could emerge from the wood,the enemy's force had already surrounded it on all sides, and horsemenarmed with swords and spears appeared everywhere between the trees."Ostap, Ostap! don't yield!" shouted Taras, and grasping his sword hebegan to cut down all he encountered on every side. But six suddenlysprang upon Ostap. They did it in an unpropitious hour: the head ofone flew off, another turned to flee, a spear pierced the ribs of athird; a fourth, more bold, bent his head to escape the bullet, andthe bullet striking his horse's breast, the maddened animal reared,fell back upon the earth, and crushed his rider under him. "Well done,son! Well done, Ostap!" cried Taras: "I am following you." And hedrove off those who attacked him. Taras hewed and fought, dealingblows at one after another, but still keeping his eye upon Ostapahead. He saw that eight more were falling upon his son. "Ostap,Ostap! don't yield!" But they had already overpowered Ostap; one hadflung his lasso about his neck, and they had bound him, and werecarrying him away. "Hey, Ostap, Ostap!" shouted Taras, forcing his waytowards him, and cutting men down like cabbages to right and left."Hey, Ostap, Ostap!" But something at that moment struck him like aheavy stone. All grew dim and confused before his eyes. In one momentthere flashed confusedly before him heads, spears, smoke, the gleam offire, tree-trunks, and leaves; and then he sank heavily to the earthlike a felled oak, and darkness covered his eyes.

CHAPTER X

"I have slept a long while!" said Taras, coming to his senses, as ifafter a heavy drunken sleep, and trying to distinguish the objectsabout him. A terrible weakness overpowered his limbs. The walls andcorners of a strange room were dimly visible before him. At length heperceived that Tovkatch was seated beside him, apparently listening tohis every breath.

"Yes," thought Tovkatch, "you might have slept forever." But he saidnothing, only shook his finger, and motioned him to be silent.

"But tell me where I am now?" asked Taras, straining his mind, andtrying to recollect what had taken place.

"Be silent!" cried his companion sternly. "Why should you want toknow? Don't you see that you are all hacked to pieces? Here I havebeen galloping with you for two weeks without taking a breath; and youhave been burnt up with fever and talking nonsense. This is the firsttime you have slept quietly. Be silent if you don't wish to doyourself an injury."

But Taras still tried to collect his thoughts and to recall what hadpassed. "Well, the Lyakhs must have surrounded and captured me. I hadno chance of fighting my way clear from the throng."

"Be silent, I tell you, you devil's brat!" cried Tovkatch angrily, asa nurse, driven beyond her patience, cries out at her unruly charge."What good will it do you to know how you got away? It is enough thatyou did get away. Some people were found who would not abandon you;let that be enough for you. It is something for me to have ridden allnight with you. You think that you passed for a common Cossack? No,they have offered a reward of two thousand ducats for your head."

"And Ostap!" cried Taras suddenly, and tried to rise; for all at oncehe recollected that Ostap had been seized and bound before his veryeyes, and that he was now in the hands of the Lyakhs. Griefoverpowered him. He pulled off and tore in pieces the bandages fromhis wounds, and threw them far from him; he tried to say something,but only articulated some incoherent words. Fever and delirium seizedupon him afresh, and he uttered wild and incoherent speeches.Meanwhile his faithful comrade stood beside him, scolding andshowering harsh, reproachful words upon him without stint. Finally, heseized him by the arms and legs, wrapped him up like a child, arrangedall his bandages, rolled him in an ox-hide, bound him with bast, and,fastening him with ropes to his saddle, rode with him again at fullspeed along the road.

"I'll get you there, even if it be not alive! I will not abandon yourbody for the Lyakhs to make merry over you, and cut your body in twainand fling it into the water. Let the eagle tear out your eyes if itmust be so; but let it be our eagle of the steppe and not a Polisheagle, not one which has flown hither from Polish soil. I will bringyou, though it be a corpse, to the Ukraine!"

Thus spoke his faithful companion. He rode without drawing rein, dayand night, and brought Taras still insensible into the ZaporozhianSetch itself. There he undertook to cure him, with unswerving care, bythe aid of herbs and liniments. He sought out a skilled Jewess, whomade Taras drink various potions for a whole month, and at length heimproved. Whether it was owing to the medicine or to his ironconstitution gaining the upper hand, at all events, in six weeks hewas on his feet. His wounds had closed, and only the scars of thesabre-cuts showed how deeply injured the old Cossack had been. But hewas markedly sad and morose. Three deep wrinkles engraved themselvesupon his brow and never more departed thence. Then he looked aroundhim. All was new in the Setch; all his old companions were dead. Notone was left of those who had stood up for the right, for faith andbrotherhood. And those who had gone forth with the Koschevoi inpursuit of the Tatars, they also had long since disappeared. All hadperished. One had lost his head in battle; another had died for lackof food, amid the salt marshes of the Crimea; another had fallen incaptivity and been unable to survive the disgrace. Their formerKoschevoi was no longer living, nor any of his old companions, and thegrass was growing over those once alert with power. He felt as one whohad given a feast, a great noisy feast. All the dishes had beensmashed in pieces; not a drop of wine was left anywhere; the guestsand servants had all stolen valuable cups and platters; and he, likethe master of the house, stood sadly thinking that it would have beenno feast. In vain did they try to cheer Taras and to divert his mind;in vain did the long-bearded, grey-haired guitar-players come by twosand threes to glorify his Cossack deeds. He gazed grimly andindifferently at everything, with inappeasable grief printed on hisstolid face; and said softly, as he drooped his head, "My son, myOstap!"

The Zaporozhtzi assembled for a raid by sea. Two hundred boats werelaunched on the Dnieper, and Asia Minor saw those who manned them,with their shaven heads and long scalp-locks, devote her thrivingshores to fire and sword; she saw the turbans of her Mahometaninhabitants strewn, like her innumerable flowers, over theblood-sprinkled fields, and floating along her river banks; she sawmany tarry Zaporozhian trousers, and strong hands with blackhunting-whips. The Zaporozhtzi ate up and laid waste all thevineyards. In the mosques they left heaps of dung. They used richPersian shawls for sashes, and girded their dirty gaberdines withthem. Long afterwards, short Zaporozhian pipes were found in thoseregions. They sailed merrily back. A ten-gun Turkish ship pursued themand scattered their skiffs, like birds, with a volley from its guns. Athird part of them sank in the depths of the sea; but the rest againassembled, and gained the mouth of the Dnieper with twelve kegs fullof sequins. But all this did not interest Taras. He went off upon thesteppe as though to hunt; but the charge remained in his gun, and,laying down the weapon, he would seat himself sadly on the shores ofthe sea. He sat there long with drooping head, repeating continually,"My Ostap, my Ostap!" Before him spread the gleaming Black Sea; in thedistant reeds the sea-gull screamed. His grey moustache turned tosilver, and the tears fell one by one upon it.

At last Taras could endure it no longer. "Whatever happens, I must goand find out what he is doing. Is he alive, or in the grave? I willknow, cost what it may!" Within a week he found himself in the city ofOuman, fully armed, and mounted, with lance, sword, canteen, pot ofoatmeal, powder horn, cord to hobble his horse, and other equipments.He went straight to a dirty, ill-kept little house, the small windowsof which were almost invisible, blackened as they were with someunknown dirt. The chimney was wrapped in rags; and the roof, which wasfull of holes, was covered with sparrows. A heap of all sorts ofrefuse lay before the very door. From the window peered the head of aJewess, in a head-dress with discoloured pearls.

"Is your husband at home?" said Bulba, dismounting, and fastening hishorse's bridle to an iron hook beside the door.

"He is at home," said the Jewess, and hastened out at once with ameasure of corn for the horse, and a stoup of beer for the rider.

"Where is your Jew?"

"He is in the other room at prayer," replied the Jewess, bowing andwishing Bulba good health as he raised the cup to his lips.

"Remain here, feed and water my horse, whilst I go speak with himalone. I have business with him."

This Jew was the well-known Yankel. He was there as revenue-farmer andtavern-keeper. He had gradually got nearly all the neighbouringnoblemen and gentlemen into his hands, had slowly sucked away most oftheir money, and had strongly impressed his presence on that locality.For a distance of three miles in all directions, not a single farmremained in a proper state. All were falling in ruins; all had beendrunk away, and poverty and rags alone remained. The wholeneighbourhood was depopulated, as if after a fire or an epidemic; andif Yankel had lived there ten years, he would probably havedepopulated the Waiwode's whole domains.

Taras entered the room. The Jew was praying, enveloped in his dirtyshroud, and was turning to spit for the last time, according to theforms of his creed, when his eye suddenly lighted on Taras standingbehind him. The first thing that crossed Yankel's mind was the twothousand ducats offered for his visitor's head; but he was ashamed ofhis avarice, and tried to stifle within him the eternal thought ofgold, which twines, like a snake, about the soul of a Jew.

"Listen, Yankel," said Taras to the Jew, who began to bow low beforehim, and as he spoke he shut the door so that they might not be seen,"I saved your life: the Zaporozhtzi would have torn you to pieces likea dog. Now it is your turn to do me a service."

The Jew's face clouded over a little.

"What service? If it is a service I can render, why should I notrender it?"

"Ask no questions. Take me to Warsaw."

"To Warsaw? Why to Warsaw?" said the Jew, and his brows and shouldersrose in amazement.

"Ask me nothing. Take me to Warsaw. I must see him once more at anycost, and say one word to him."

"Say a word to whom?"

"To him--to Ostap--to my son."

"Has not my lord heard that already--"

"I know, I know all. They offer two thousand ducats for my head. Theyknow its value, fools! I will give you five thousand. Here are twothousand on the spot," and Bulba poured out two thousand ducats from aleather purse, "and the rest when I return."

The Jew instantly seized a towel and concealed the ducats under it."Ai, glorious money! ai, good money!" he said, twirling one gold piecein his hand and testing it with his teeth. "I don't believe the manfrom whom my lord took these fine gold pieces remained in the world anhour longer; he went straight to the river and drowned himself, afterthe loss of such magnificent gold pieces."

"I should not have asked you, I might possibly have found my own wayto Warsaw; but some one might recognise me, and then the cursed Lyakhswould capture me, for I am not clever at inventions; whilst that isjust what you Jews are created for. You would deceive the very devil.You know every trick: that is why I have come to you; and, besides, Icould do nothing of myself in Warsaw. Harness the horse to your waggonat once and take me."

"And my lord thinks that I can take the nag at once, and harness him,and say 'Get up, Dapple!' My lord thinks that I can take him just ashe is, without concealing him?"

"Well, hide me, hide me as you like: in an empty cask?"

"Ai, ai! and my lord thinks he can be concealed in an empty cask? Doesnot my lord know that every man thinks that every cast he seescontains brandy?"

"Well, let them think it is brandy."

"Let them think it is brandy?" said the Jew, and grasped his ear-lockswith both hands, and then raised them both on high.

"Well, why are you so frightened?"

"And does not my lord know that God has made brandy expressly forevery one to sip? They are all gluttons and fond of dainties there: anobleman will run five versts after a cask; he will make a hole in it,and as soon as he sees that nothing runs out, he will say, 'A Jew doesnot carry empty casks; there is certainly something wrong. Seize theJew, bind the Jew, take away all the Jew's money, put the Jew inprison!' Then all the vile people will fall upon the Jew, for everyone takes a Jew for a dog; and they think he is not a man, but only aJew."

"Then put me in the waggon with some fish over me."

"I cannot, my lord, by heaven, I cannot: all over Poland the peopleare as hungry as dogs now. They will steal the fish, and feel mylord."

"Then take me in the fiend's way, only take me."

"Listen, listen, my lord!" said the Jew, turning up the ends of hissleeves, and approaching him with extended arms. "This is what we willdo. They are building fortresses and castles everywhere: Frenchengineers have come from Germany, and so a great deal of brick andstone is being carried over the roads. Let my lord lie down in thebottom of the waggon, and over him I will pile bricks. My lord isstrong and well, apparently, so he will not mind if it is a littleheavy; and I will make a hole in the bottom of the waggon in order tofeed my lord."

"Do what you will, only take me!"

In an hour, a waggon-load of bricks left Ouman, drawn by two sorrynags. On one of them sat tall Yankel, his long, curling ear-locksflowing from beneath his Jewish cap, as he bounced about on the horse,like a verst-mark planted by the roadside.

CHAPTER XI

At the time when these things took place, there were as yet on thefrontiers neither custom-house officials nor guards--those bugbears ofenterprising people--so that any one could bring across anything hefancied. If any one made a search or inspection, he did it chiefly forhis own pleasure, especially if there happened to be in the waggonobjects attractive to his eye, and if his own hand possessed a certainweight and power. But the bricks found no admirers, and they enteredthe principal gate unmolested. Bulba, in his narrow cage, could onlyhear the noise, the shouts of the driver, and nothing more. Yankel,bouncing up and down on his dust-covered nag, turned, after makingseveral detours, into a dark, narrow street bearing the names of theMuddy and also of the Jews' street, because Jews from nearly everypart of Warsaw were to be found here. This street greatly resembled aback-yard turned wrong side out. The sun never seemed to shine intoit. The black wooden houses, with numerous poles projecting from thewindows, still further increased the darkness. Rarely did a brick wallgleam red among them; for these too, in many places, had turned quiteblack. Here and there, high up, a bit of stuccoed wall illumined bythe sun glistened with intolerable whiteness. Pipes, rags, shells,broken and discarded tubs: every one flung whatever was useless to himinto the street, thus affording the passer-by an opportunity ofexercising all his five senses with the rubbish. A man on horsebackcould almost touch with his hand the poles thrown across the streetfrom one house to another, upon which hung Jewish stockings, shorttrousers, and smoked geese. Sometimes a pretty little Hebrew face,adorned with discoloured pearls, peeped out of an old window. A groupof little Jews, with torn and dirty garments and curly hair, screamedand rolled about in the dirt. A red-haired Jew, with freckles all overhis face which made him look like a sparrow's egg, gazed from awindow. He addressed Yankel at once in his gibberish, and Yankel atonce drove into a court-yard. Another Jew came along, halted, andentered into conversation. When Bulba finally emerged from beneath thebricks, he beheld three Jews talking with great warmth.

Yankel turned to him and said that everything possible would be done;that his Ostap was in the city jail, and that although it would bedifficult to persuade the jailer, yet he hoped to arrange a meeting.

Bulba entered the room with the three Jews.

The Jews again began to talk among themselves in theirincomprehensible tongue. Taras looked hard at each of them. Somethingseemed to have moved him deeply; over his rough and stolid countenancea flame of hope spread, of hope such as sometimes visits a man in thelast depths of his despair; his aged heart began to beat violently asthough he had been a youth.

"Listen, Jews!" said he, and there was a triumphant ring in his words."You can do anything in the world, even extract things from the bottomof the sea; and it has long been a proverb, that a Jew will steal fromhimself if he takes a fancy to steal. Set my Ostap at liberty! givehim a chance to escape from their diabolical hands. I promised thisman five thousand ducats; I will add another five thousand: all that Ihave, rich cups, buried gold, houses, all, even to my last garment, Iwill part with; and I will enter into a contract with you for my wholelife, to give you half of all the booty I may gain in war."

"Oh, impossible, dear lord, it is impossible!" said Yankel with asigh.

"Impossible," said another Jew.

All three Jews looked at each other.

"We might try," said the third, glancing timidly at the other two."God may favour us."

All three Jews discussed the matter in German. Bulba, in spite of hisstraining ears, could make nothing of it; he only caught the word"Mardokhai" often repeated.

"Listen, my lord!" said Yankel. "We must consult with a man such asthere never was before in the world . . . ugh, ugh! as wise asSolomon; and if he will do nothing, then no one in the world can. Sithere: this is the key; admit no one." The Jews went out into thestreet.

Taras locked the door, and looked out from the little window upon thedirty Jewish street. The three Jews halted in the middle of the streetand began to talk with a good deal of warmth: a fourth soon joinedthem, and finally a fifth. Again he heard repeated, "Mardokhai,Mardokhai!" The Jews glanced incessantly towards one side of thestreet; at length from a dirty house near the end of it emerged a footin a Jewish shoe and the skirts of a caftan. "Ah! Mardokhai,Mardokhai!" shouted the Jews in one voice. A thin Jew somewhat shorterthan Yankel, but even more wrinkled, and with a huge upper lip,approached the impatient group; and all the Jews made haste to talk tohim, interrupting each other. During the recital, Mardokhai glancedseveral times towards the little window, and Taras divined that theconversation concerned him.

Mardokhai waved his hands, listened, interrupted, spat frequently toone side, and, pulling up the skirts of his caftan, thrust his handinto his pocket and drew out some jingling thing, showing very dirtytrousers in the operation. Finally all the Jews set up such a shoutingthat the Jew who was standing guard was forced to make a signal forsilence, and Taras began to fear for his safety; but when heremembered that Jews can only consult in the street, and that thedemon himself cannot understand their language, he regained hiscomposure.

Two minutes later the Jews all entered the room together. Mardokhaiapproached Taras, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, "When we setto work it will be all right." Taras looked at this Solomon whom theworld had never known and conceived some hope: indeed, his face mightwell inspire confidence. His upper lip was simply an object of horror;its thickness being doubtless increased by adventitious circumstances.This Solomon's beard consisted only of about fifteen hairs, and theywere on the left side. Solomon's face bore so many scars of battle,received for his daring, that he had doubtless lost count of them longbefore, and had grown accustomed to consider them as birthmarks.

Mardokhai departed, accompanied by his comrades, who were filled withadmiration at his wisdom. Bulba remained alone. He was in a strange,unaccustomed situation for the first time in his life; he felt uneasy.His mind was in a state of fever. He was no longer unbending,immovable, strong as an oak, as he had formerly been: but felt timidand weak. He trembled at every sound, at every fresh Jewish face whichshowed itself at the end of the street. In this condition he passedthe whole day. He neither ate nor drank, and his eye never for amoment left the small window looking on the street. Finally, late atnight, Mardokhai and Yankel made their appearance. Taras's heart diedwithin him.

"What news? have you been successful?" he asked with the impatience ofa wild horse.

But before the Jews had recovered breath to answer, Taras perceivedthat Mardokhai no longer had the locks, which had formerly fallen ingreasy curls from under his felt cap. It was evident that he wished tosay something, but he uttered only nonsense which Taras could makenothing of. Yankel himself put his hand very often to his mouth asthough suffering from a cold.

"Oh, dearest lord!" said Yankel: "it is quite impossible now! byheaven, impossible! Such vile people that they deserve to be spitupon! Mardokhai here says the same. Mardokhai has done what no man inthe world ever did, but God did not will that it should be so. Threethousand soldiers are in garrison here, and to-morrow the prisonersare all to be executed."

Taras looked the Jew straight in the face, but no longer withimpatience or anger.

"But if my lord wishes to see his son, then it must be early to-morrowmorning, before the sun has risen. The sentinels have consented, andone gaoler has promised. But may he have no happiness in the world,woe is me! What greedy people! There are none such among us: I gavefifty ducats to each sentinel and to the gaoler."

"Good. Take me to him!" exclaimed Taras, with decision, and with allhis firmness of mind restored. He agreed to Yankel's proposition thathe should disguise himself as a foreign count, just arrived fromGermany, for which purpose the prudent Jew had already provided acostume. It was already night. The master of the house, the red-hairedJew with freckles, pulled out a mattress covered with some kind ofrug, and spread it on a bench for Bulba. Yankel lay upon the floor ona similar mattress. The red-haired Jew drank a small cup of brandy,took off his caftan, and betook himself--looking, in his shoes andstockings, very like a lean chicken--with his wife, to somethingresembling a cupboard. Two little Jews lay down on the floor besidethe cupboard, like a couple of dogs. But Taras did not sleep; he satmotionless, drumming on the table with his fingers. He kept his pipein his mouth, and puffed out smoke, which made the Jew sneeze in hissleep and pull his coverlet over his nose. Scarcely was the skytouched with the first faint gleams of dawn than he pushed Yankel withhis foot, saying: "Rise, Jew, and give me your count's dress!"

In a moment he was dressed. He blackened his moustache and eyebrows,put on his head a small dark cap; even the Cossacks who knew him bestwould not have recognised him. Apparently he was not more thanthirty-five. A healthy colour glowed on his cheeks, and his scars lenthim an air of command. The gold-embroidered dress became him extremelywell.

The streets were still asleep. Not a single one of the market folk asyet showed himself in the city, with his basket on his arm. Yankel andBulba made their way to a building which presented the appearance of acrouching stork. It was large, low, wide, and black; and on one side along slender tower like a stork's neck projected above the roof. Thisbuilding served for a variety of purposes; it was a barrack, a jail,and the criminal court. The visitors entered the gate and foundthemselves in a vast room, or covered courtyard. About a thousand menwere sleeping here. Straight before them was a small door, in front ofwhich sat two sentries playing at some game which consisted in onestriking the palm of the other's hand with two fingers. They paidlittle heed to the new arrivals, and only turned their heads whenYankel said, "It is we, sirs; do you hear? it is we."

"Go in!" said one of them, opening the door with one hand, and holdingout the other to his comrade to receive his blows.

They entered a low and dark corridor, which led them to a similar roomwith small windows overhead. "Who goes there?" shouted several voices,and Taras beheld a number of warriors in full armour. "We have beenordered to admit no one."

"It is we!" cried Yankel; "we, by heavens, noble sirs!" But no onewould listen to him. Fortunately, at that moment a fat man came up,who appeared to be a commanding officer, for he swore louder than allthe others.

"My lord, it is we! you know us, and the lord count will thank you."

"Admit them, a hundred fiends, and mother of fiends! Admit no oneelse. And no one is to draw his sword, nor quarrel."

The conclusion of this order the visitors did not hear. "It is we, itis I, it is your friends!" Yankel said to every one they met.

"Well, can it be managed now?" he inquired of one of the guards, whenthey at length reached the end of the corridor.

"It is possible, but I don't know whether you will be able to gainadmission to the prison itself. Yana is not here now; another man iskeeping watch in his place," replied the guard.

"Ai, ai!" cried the Jew softly: "this is bad, my dear lord!"

"Go on!" said Taras, firmly, and the Jew obeyed.

At the arched entrance of the vaults stood a heyduke, with a moustachetrimmed in three layers: the upper layer was trained backwards, thesecond straight forward, and the third downwards, which made himgreatly resemble a cat.

The Jew shrank into nothing and approached him almost sideways: "Yourhigh excellency! High and illustrious lord!"

"Are you speaking to me, Jew?"

"To you, illustrious lord."

"Hm, but I am merely a heyduke," said the merry-eyed man with thetriple-tiered moustache.

"And I thought it was the Waiwode himself, by heavens! Ai, ai, ai!"Thereupon the Jew twisted his head about and spread out his fingers."Ai, what a fine figure! Another finger's-breadth and he would be acolonel. The lord no doubt rides a horse as fleet as the wind andcommands the troops!"

The heyduke twirled the lower tier of his moustache, and his eyesbeamed.

"What a warlike people!" continued the Jew. "Ah, woe is me, what afine race! Golden cords and trappings that shine like the sun; and themaidens, wherever they see warriors--Ai, ai!" Again the Jew wagged hishead.

The heyduke twirled his upper moustache and uttered a sound somewhatresembling the neighing of a horse.

"I pray my lord to do us a service!" exclaimed the Jew: "this princehas come hither from a foreign land, and wants to get a look at theCossacks. He never, in all his life, has seen what sort of people theCossacks are."

The advent of foreign counts and barons was common enough in Poland:they were often drawn thither by curiosity to view this half-Asiaticcorner of Europe. They regarded Moscow and the Ukraine as situated inAsia. So the heyduke bowed low, and thought fit to add a few words ofhis own.

"I do not know, your excellency," said he, "why you should desire tosee them. They are dogs, not men; and their faith is such as no onerespects."

"You lie, you son of Satan!" exclaimed Bulba. "You are a dog yourself!How dare you say that our faith is not respected? It is your hereticalfaith which is not respected."

"Oho!" said the heyduke. "I can guess who you are, my friend; you areone of the breed of those under my charge. So just wait while I summonour men."

Taras realised his indiscretion, but vexation and obstinacy hinderedhim from devising a means of remedying it. Fortunately Yankel managedto interpose at this moment:--

"Most noble lord, how is it possible that the count can be a Cossack?If he were a Cossack, where could have he obtained such a dress, andsuch a count-like mien?"

"Explain that yourself." And the heyduke opened his wide mouth toshout.

"Your royal highness, silence, silence, for heaven's sake!" criedYankel. "Silence! we will pay you for it in a way you never dreamedof: we will give you two golden ducats."

"Oho! two ducats! I can't do anything with two ducats. I give mybarber two ducats for only shaving the half of my beard. Give me ahundred ducats, Jew." Here the heyduke twirled his upper moustache."If you don't, I will shout at once."

"Why so much?" said the Jew, sadly, turning pale, and undoing hisleather purse; but it was lucky that he had no more in it, and thatthe heyduke could not count over a hundred.

"My lord, my lord, let us depart quickly! Look at the evil-mindedfellow!" said Yankel to Taras, perceiving that the heyduke was turningthe money over in his hand as though regretting that he had notdemanded more.

"What do you mean, you devil of a heyduke?" said Bulba. "What do youmean by taking our money and not letting us see the Cossacks? No, youmust let us see them. Since you have taken the money, you have noright to refuse."

"Go, go to the devil! If you won't, I'll give the alarm this moment.Take yourselves off quickly, I say!"

"My lord, my lord, let us go! in God's name let us go! Curse him! Mayhe dream such things that he will have to spit," cried poor Yankel.

Bulba turned slowly, with drooping head, and retraced his steps,followed by the complaints of Yankel who was sorrowing at the thoughtof the wasted ducats.

"Why be angry? Let the dog curse. That race cannot help cursing. Oh,woe is me, what luck God sends to some people! A hundred ducats merelyfor driving us off! And our brother: they have torn off his ear-locks,and they made wounds on his face that you cannot bear to look at, andyet no one will give him a hundred gold pieces. O heavens! MercifulGod!"

But this failure made a much deeper impression on Bulba, expressed bya devouring flame in his eyes.

"Let us go," he said, suddenly, as if arousing himself; "let us go tothe square. I want to see how they will torture him."

"Oh, my lord! why go? That will do us no good now."

"Let us go," said Bulba, obstinately; and the Jew followed him,sighing like a nurse.

The square on which the execution was to take place was not hard tofind: for the people were thronging thither from all quarters. In thatsavage age such a thing constituted one of the most noteworthyspectacles, not only for the common people, but among the higherclasses. A number of the most pious old men, a throng of young girls,and the most cowardly women, who dreamed the whole night afterwards oftheir bloody corpses, and shrieked as loudly in their sleep as adrunken hussar, missed, nevertheless, no opportunity of gratifyingtheir curiosity. "Ah, what tortures!" many of them would cry,hysterically, covering their eyes and turning away; but they stoodtheir ground for a good while, all the same. Many a one, with gapingmouth and outstretched hands, would have liked to jump upon otherfolk's heads, to get a better view. Above the crowd towered a bulkybutcher, admiring the whole process with the air of a connoisseur, andexchanging brief remarks with a gunsmith, whom he addressed as"Gossip," because he got drunk in the same alehouse with him onholidays. Some entered into warm discussions, others even laid wagers.But the majority were of the species who, all the world over, look onat the world and at everything that goes on in it and merely scratchtheir noses. In the front ranks, close to the bearded civic-guards,stood a young noble, in warlike array, who had certainly put his wholewardrobe on his back, leaving only his torn shirt and old shoes at hisquarters. Two chains, one above the other, hung around his neck. Hestood beside his mistress, Usisya, and glanced about incessantly tosee that no one soiled her silk gown. He explained everything to herso perfectly that no one could have added a word. "All these peoplewhom you see, my dear Usisya," he said, "have come to see thecriminals executed; and that man, my love, yonder, holding the axe andother instruments in his hands, is the executioner, who will despatchthem. When he begins to break them on the wheel, and torture them inother ways, the criminals will still be alive; but when he cuts offtheir heads, then, my love, they will die at once. Before that, theywill cry and move; but as soon as their heads are cut off, it will beimpossible for them to cry, or to eat or drink, because, my dear, theywill no longer have any head." Usisya listened to all this with terrorand curiosity.

The upper stories of the houses were filled with people. From thewindows in the roof peered strange faces with beards and somethingresembling caps. Upon the balconies, beneath shady awnings, sat thearistocracy. The hands of smiling young ladies, brilliant as whitesugar, rested on the railings. Portly nobles looked on with dignity.Servants in rich garb, with flowing sleeves, handed round variousrefreshments. Sometimes a black-eyed young rogue would take her cakeor fruit and fling it among the crowd with her own noble little hand.The crowd of hungry gentles held up their caps to receive it; and sometall noble, whose head rose amid the throng, with his faded red jacketand discoloured gold braid, and who was the first to catch it with theaid of his long arms, would kiss his booty, press it to his heart, andfinally put it in his mouth. The hawk, suspended beneath the balconyin a golden cage, was also a spectator; with beak inclined to oneside, and with one foot raised, he, too, watched the peopleattentively. But suddenly a murmur ran through the crowd, and a rumourspread, "They are coming! they are coming! the Cossacks!"

They were bare-headed, with their long locks floating in the air.Their beards had grown, and their once handsome garments were wornout, and hung about them in tatters. They walked neither timidly norsurlily, but with a certain pride, neither looking at nor bowing tothe people. At the head of all came Ostap.

What were old Taras's feelings when thus he beheld his Ostap? Whatfilled his heart then? He gazed at him from amid the crowd, and lostnot a single movement of his. They reached the place of execution.Ostap stopped. He was to be the first to drink the bitter cup. Heglanced at his comrades, raised his hand, and said in a loud voice:"God grant that none of the heretics who stand here may hear, theunclean dogs, how Christians suffer! Let none of us utter a singleword." After this he ascended the scaffold.

"Well done, son! well done!" said Bulba, softly, and bent his greyhead.

The executioner tore off his old rags; they fastened his hands andfeet in stocks prepared expressly, and-- We will not pain the readerwith a picture of the hellish tortures which would make his hair riseupright on his head. They were the outcome of that coarse, wild age,when men still led a life of warfare which hardened their souls untilno sense of humanity was left in them. In vain did some, not many, inthat age make a stand against such terrible measures. In vain did theking and many nobles, enlightened in mind and spirit, demonstrate thatsuch severity of punishment could but fan the flame of vengeance inthe Cossack nation. But the power of the king, and the opinion of thewise, was as nothing before the savage will of the magnates of thekingdom, who, by their thoughtlessness and unconquerable lack of allfar-sighted policy, their childish self-love and miserable pride,converted the Diet into the mockery of a government. Ostap endured thetorture like a giant. Not a cry, not a groan, was heard. Even whenthey began to break the bones in his hands and feet, when, amid thedeath-like stillness of the crowd, the horrible cracking was audibleto the most distant spectators; when even his tormentors turned asidetheir eyes, nothing like a groan escaped his lips, nor did his facequiver. Taras stood in the crowd with bowed head; and, raising hiseyes proudly at that moment, he said, approvingly, "Well done, boy!well done!"

But when they took him to the last deadly tortures, it seemed asthough his strength were failing. He cast his eyes around.

O God! all strangers, all unknown faces! If only some of his relativeshad been present at his death! He would not have cared to hear thesobs and anguish of his poor, weak mother, nor the unreasoning criesof a wife, tearing her hair and beating her white breast; but he wouldhave liked to see a strong man who might refresh him with a word ofwisdom, and cheer his end. And his strength failed him, and he criedin the weakness of his soul, "Father! where are you? do you hear?"

"I hear!" rang through the universal silence, and those thousands ofpeople shuddered in concert. A detachment of cavalry hastened tosearch through the throng of people. Yankel turned pale as death, andwhen the horsemen had got within a short distance of him, turned roundin terror to look for Taras; but Taras was no longer beside him; everytrace of him was lost.

CHAPTER XII

They soon found traces of Taras. An army of a hundred and twentythousand Cossacks appeared on the frontier of the Ukraine. This was nosmall detachment sallying forth for plunder or in pursuit of theTatars. No: the whole nation had risen, for the measure of thepeople's patience was over-full; they had risen to avenge thedisregard of their rights, the dishonourable humiliation ofthemselves, the insults to the faith of their fathers and their sacredcustoms, the outrages upon their church, the excesses of the foreignnobles, the disgraceful domination of the Jews on Christian soil, andall that had aroused and deepened the stern hatred of the Cossacks fora long time past. Hetman Ostranitza, young, but firm in mind, led thevast Cossack force. Beside him was seen his old and experienced friendand counsellor, Gunya. Eight leaders led bands of twelve thousand meneach. Two osauls and a bunchuzhniy assisted the hetman. Acornet-general carried the chief standard, whilst many other bannersand standards floated in the air; and the comrades of the staff borethe golden staff of the hetman, the symbol of his office. There werealso many other officials belonging to the different bands, thebaggage train and the main force with detachments of infantry andcavalry. There were almost as many free Cossacks and volunteers asthere were registered Cossacks. The Cossacks had risen everywhere.They came from Tchigirin, from Pereyaslaf, from Baturin, from Glukhof,from the regions of the lower Dnieper, and from all its upper shoresand islands. An uninterrupted stream of horses and herds of cattlestretched across the plain. And among all these Cossacks, among allthese bands, one was the choicest; and that was the band led by TarasBulba. All contributed to give him an influence over the others: hisadvanced years, his experience and skill in directing an army, and hisbitter hatred of the foe. His unsparing fierceness and cruelty seemedexaggerated even to the Cossacks. His grey head dreamed of naught savefire and sword, and his utterances at the councils of war breathedonly annihilation.

It is useless to describe all the battles in which the Cossacksdistinguished themselves, or the gradual courses of the campaign. Allthis is set down in the chronicles. It is well known what an armyraised on Russian soil, for the orthodox faith, is like. There is nopower stronger than faith. It is threatening and invincible like arock, and rising amidst the stormy, ever-changing sea. From the verybottom of the sea it rears to heaven its jagged sides of firm,impenetrable stone. It is visible from everywhere, and looks the wavesstraight in the face as they roll past. And woe to the ship which isdashed against it! Its frame flies into splinters, everything in it issplit and crushed, and the startled air re-echoes the piteous cries ofthe drowning.

In the pages of the chronicles there is a minute description of howthe Polish garrisons fled from the freed cities; how the unscrupulousJewish tavern-keepers were hung; how powerless was the royal hetman,Nikolai Pototzky, with his numerous army, against this invincibleforce; how, routed and pursued, he lost the best of his troops bydrowning in a small stream; how the fierce Cossack regiments besiegedhim in the little town of Polon; and how, reduced to extremities, hepromised, under oath, on the part of the king and the government, itsfull satisfaction to all, and the restoration of all their rights andprivileges. But the Cossacks were not men to give way for this. Theyalready knew well what a Polish oath was worth. And Pototzky wouldnever more have pranced on his six-thousand ducat horse from theKabardei, attracting the glances of distinguished ladies and the envyof the nobility; he would never more have made a figure in the Diet,by giving costly feasts to the senators--if the Russian priests whowere in the little town had not saved him. When all the popes, intheir brilliant gold vestments, went out to meet the Cossacks, bearingthe holy pictures and the cross, with the bishop himself at theirhead, crosier in hand and mitre on his head, the Cossacks all bowedtheir heads and took off their caps. To no one lower than the kinghimself would they have shown respect at such an hour; but theirdaring fell before the Church of Christ, and they honoured theirpriesthood. The hetman and leaders agreed to release Pototzky, afterhaving extracted from him a solemn oath to leave all the Christianchurches unmolested, to forswear the ancient enmity, and to do no harmto the Cossack forces. One leader alone would not consent to such apeace. It was Taras. He tore a handful of hair from his head, andcried:

"Hetman and leaders! Commit no such womanish deed. Trust not theLyakhs; slay the dogs!"

When the secretary presented the agreement, and the hetman put hishand to it, Taras drew a genuine Damascene blade, a costly Turkishsabre of the finest steel, broke it in twain like a reed, and threwthe two pieces far away on each side, saying, "Farewell! As the twopieces of this sword will never reunite and form one sword again, sowe, comrades, shall nevermore behold each other in this world.Remember my parting words." As he spoke his voice grew stronger, rosehigher, and acquired a hitherto unknown power; and his propheticutterances troubled them all. "Before the death hour you will rememberme! Do you think that you have purchased peace and quiet? do you thinkthat you will make a great show? You will make a great show, but afteranother fashion. They will flay the skin from your head, hetman, theywill stuff it with bran, and long will it be exhibited at fairs.Neither will you retain your heads, gentles. You will be thrown intodamp dungeons, walled about with stone, if they do not boil you alivein cauldrons like sheep. And you, men," he continued, turning to hisfollowers, "which of you wants to die his true death? not throughsorrows and the ale-house; but an honourable Cossack death, all in onebed, like bride and groom? But, perhaps, you would like to returnhome, and turn infidels, and carry Polish priests on your backs?"

"We will follow you, noble leader, we will follow you!" shouted allhis band, and many others joined them.

"If it is to be so, then follow me," said Taras, pulling his capfarther over his brows. Looking menacingly at the others, he went tohis horse, and cried to his men, "Let no one reproach us with anyinsulting speeches. Now, hey there, men! we'll call on the Catholics."And then he struck his horse, and there followed him a camp of ahundred waggons, and with them many Cossack cavalry and infantry; and,turning, he threatened with a glance all who remained behind, andwrath was in his eye. The band departed in full view of all the army,and Taras continued long to turn and glower.

The hetman and leaders were uneasy; all became thoughtful, andremained silent, as though oppressed by some heavy foreboding. Not invain had Taras prophesied: all came to pass as he had foretold. Alittle later, after the treacherous attack at Kaneva, the hetman'shead was mounted on a stake, together with those of many of hisofficers.

And what of Taras? Taras made raids all over Poland with his band,burned eighteen towns and nearly forty churches, and reached Cracow.He killed many nobles, and plundered some of the richest and finestcastles. The Cossacks emptied on the ground the century-old mead andwine, carefully hoarded up in lordly cellars; they cut and burned therich garments and equipments which they found in the wardrobes. "Sparenothing," was the order of Taras. The Cossacks spared not theblack-browed gentlewomen, the brilliant, white-bosomed maidens: thesecould not save themselves even at the altar, for Taras burned themwith the altar itself. Snowy hands were raised to heaven from amidfiery flames, with piteous shrieks which would have moved the dampearth itself to pity and caused the steppe-grass to bend withcompassion at their fate. But the cruel Cossacks paid no heed; and,raising the children in the streets upon the points of their lances,they cast them also into the flames.

"This is a mass for the soul of Ostap, you heathen Lyakhs," was allthat Taras said. And such masses for Ostap he had sung in everyvillage, until the Polish Government perceived that Taras's raids weremore than ordinary expeditions for plunder; and Pototzky was givenfive regiments, and ordered to capture him without fail.

Six days did the Cossacks retreat along the by-roads before theirpursuers; their horses were almost equal to this unchecked flight, andnearly saved them. But this time Pototzky was also equal to the taskintrusted to him; unweariedly he followed them, and overtook them onthe bank of the Dniester, where Taras had taken possession of anabandoned and ruined castle for the purpose of resting.

On the very brink of the Dniester it stood, with its shatteredramparts and the ruined remnants of its walls. The summit of the cliffwas strewn with ragged stones and broken bricks, ready at any momentto detach themselves. The royal hetman, Pototzky, surrounded it on thetwo sides which faced the plain. Four days did the Cossacks fight,tearing down bricks and stones for missiles. But their stones andtheir strength were at length exhausted, and Taras resolved to cut hisway through the beleaguering forces. And the Cossacks would have cuttheir way through, and their swift steeds might again have served themfaithfully, had not Taras halted suddenly in the very midst of theirflight, and shouted, "Halt! my pipe has dropped with its tobacco: Iwon't let those heathen Lyakhs have my pipe!" And the old hetmanstooped down, and felt in the grass for his pipe full of tobacco, hisinseparable companion on all his expeditions by sea and land and athome.

But in the meantime a band of Lyakhs suddenly rushed up, and seizedhim by the shoulders. He struggled with all might; but he could notscatter on the earth, as he had been wont to do, the heydukes who hadseized him. "Oh, old age, old age!" he exclaimed: and the stout oldCossack wept. But his age was not to blame: nearly thirty men wereclinging to his arms and legs.

"The raven is caught!" yelled the Lyakhs. "We must think how we canshow him the most honour, the dog!" They decided, with the permissionof the hetman, to burn him alive in the sight of all. There stood hardby a leafless tree, the summit of which had been struck by lightning.They fastened him with iron chains and nails driven through his handshigh up on the trunk of the tree, so that he might be seen from allsides; and began at once to place fagots at its foot. But Taras didnot look at the wood, nor did he think of the fire with which theywere preparing to roast him: he gazed anxiously in the directionwhence his Cossacks were firing. From his high point of observation hecould see everything as in the palm of his hand.

"Take possession, men," he shouted, "of the hillock behind the wood:they cannot climb it!" But the wind did not carry his words to them."They are lost, lost!" he said in despair, and glanced down to wherethe water of the Dniester glittered. Joy gleamed in his eyes. He sawthe sterns of four boats peeping out from behind some bushes; exertedall the power of his lungs, and shouted in a ringing tone, "To thebank, to the bank, men! descend the path to the left, under the cliff.There are boats on the bank; take all, that they may not catch you."

This time the breeze blew from the other side, and his words wereaudible to the Cossacks. But for this counsel he received a blow onthe head with the back of an axe, which made everything dance beforehis eyes.

The Cossacks descended the cliff path at full speed, but theirpursuers were at their heels. They looked: the path wound and twisted,and made many detours to one side. "Comrades, we are trapped!" saidthey. All halted for an instant, raised their whips, whistled, andtheir Tatar horses rose from the ground, clove the air like serpents,flew over the precipice, and plunged straight into the Dniester. Twoonly did not alight in the river, but thundered down from the heightupon the stones, and perished there with their horses without utteringa cry. But the Cossacks had already swum shoreward from their horses,and unfastened the boats, when the Lyakhs halted on the brink of theprecipice, astounded by this wonderful feat, and thinking, "Shall wejump down to them, or not?"

One young colonel, a lively, hot-blooded soldier, own brother to thebeautiful Pole who had seduced poor Andrii, did not reflect long, butleaped with his horse after the Cossacks. He made three turns in theair with his steed, and fell heavily on the rocks. The sharp stonestore him in pieces; and his brains, mingled with blood, bespatteredthe shrubs growing on the uneven walls of the precipice.

When Taras Bulba recovered from the blow, and glanced towards theDniester, the Cossacks were already in the skiffs and rowing away.Balls were showered upon them from above but did not reach them. Andthe old hetman's eyes sparkled with joy.

"Farewell, comrades!" he shouted to them from above; "remember me, andcome hither again next spring and make merry in the same fashion!What! cursed Lyakhs, have ye caught me? Think ye there is anything inthe world that a Cossack fears? Wait; the time will come when ye shalllearn what the orthodox Russian faith is! Already the people scent itfar and near. A czar shall arise from Russian soil, and there shallnot be a power in the world which shall not submit to him!" But firehad already risen from the fagots; it lapped his feet, and the flamespread to the tree. . . . But can any fire, flames, or power be foundon earth which are capable of overpowering Russian strength?

Broad is the river Dniester, and in it are many deep pools, densereed-beds, clear shallows and little bays; its watery mirror gleams,filled with the melodious plaint of the swan, the proud wild gooseglides swiftly over it; and snipe, red-throated ruffs, and other birdsare to be found among the reeds and along the banks. The Cossacksrowed swiftly on in the narrow double-ruddered boats--rowed stoutly,carefully shunning the sand bars, and cleaving the ranks of the birds,which took wing--rowed, and talked of their hetman.

ST. JOHN'S EVE

A STORY TOLD BY THE SACRISTAN OF THE DIKANKA CHURCH

Thoma Grigroovitch had one very strange eccentricity: to the day ofhis death he never liked to tell the same thing twice. There weretimes when, if you asked him to relate a thing afresh, he wouldinterpolate new matter, or alter it so that it was impossible torecognise it. Once upon a time, one of those gentlemen who, like theusurers at our yearly fairs, clutch and beg and steal every sort offrippery, and issue mean little volumes, no thicker than an A B Cbook, every month, or even every week, wormed this same story out ofThoma Grigorovitch, and the latter completely forgot about it. Butthat same young gentleman, in the pea-green caftan, came from Poltava,bringing with him a little book, and, opening it in the middle, showedit to us. Thoma Grigorovitch was on the point of setting hisspectacles astride of his nose, but recollected that he had forgottento wind thread about them and stick them together with wax, so hepassed it over to me. As I understand nothing about reading andwriting, and do not wear spectacles, I undertook to read it. I had notturned two leaves when all at once he caught me by the hand andstopped me.

"Stop! tell me first what you are reading."

I confess that I was a trifle stunned by such a question.

"What! what am I reading, Thoma Grigorovitch? Why, your own words."

"Who told you that they were my words?"

"Why, what more would you have? Here it is printed: 'Related by suchand such a sacristan.'"

"Spit on the head of the man who printed that! he lies, the dog of aMoscow pedlar! Did I say that? ''Twas just the same as though onehadn't his wits about him!' Listen. I'll tell the tale to you on thespot."

We moved up to the table, and he began.

*

My grandfather (the kingdom of heaven be his! may he eat only wheatenrolls and poppy-seed cakes with honey in the other world!) could tella story wonderfully well. When he used to begin a tale you could notstir from the spot all day, but kept on listening. He was not like thestory-teller of the present day, when he begins to lie, with a tongueas though he had had nothing to eat for three days, so that you snatchyour cap and flee from the house. I remember my old mother was alivethen, and in the long winter evenings when the frost was crackling outof doors, and had sealed up hermetically the narrow panes of ourcottage, she used to sit at her wheel, drawing out a long thread inher hand, rocking the cradle with her foot, and humming a song, whichI seem to hear even now.

The lamp, quivering and flaring up as though in fear of something,lighted up our cottage; the spindle hummed; and all of us children,collected in a cluster, listened to grandfather, who had not crawledoff the stove for more than five years, owing to his great age. Butthe wondrous tales of the incursions of the Zaporozhian Cossacks andthe Poles, the bold deeds of Podkova, of Poltar-Kozhukh, andSagaidatchnii, did not interest us so much as the stories about somedeed of old which always sent a shiver through our frames and made ourhair rise upright on our heads. Sometimes such terror took possessionof us in consequence of them, that, from that evening forward, Heavenknows how wonderful everything seemed to us. If one chanced to go outof the cottage after nightfall for anything, one fancied that avisitor from the other world had lain down to sleep in one's bed; andI have often taken my own smock, at a distance, as it lay at the headof the bed, for the Evil One rolled up into a ball! But the chiefthing about grandfather's stories was, that he never lied in all hislife; and whatever he said was so, was so.

I will now tell you one of his wonderful tales. I know that there area great many wise people who copy in the courts, and can even readcivil documents, but who, if you were to put into their hand a simpleprayer-book, could not make out the first letter in it, and would showall their teeth in derision. These people laugh at everything you tellthem. Along comes one of them--and doesn't believe in witches! Yes,glory to God that I have lived so long in the world! I have seenheretics to whom it would be easier to lie in confession than it wouldbe to our brothers and equals to take snuff, and these folk would denythe existence of witches! But let them just dream about something, andthey won't even tell what it was! There, it is no use talking aboutthem!

No one could have recognised the village of ours a little over ahundred years ago; it was a hamlet, the poorest kind of a hamlet. Halfa score of miserable farmhouses, unplastered and badly thatched, werescattered here and there about the fields. There was not a yard or adecent shed to shelter animals or waggons. That was the way thewealthy lived: and if you had looked for our brothers, the poor--why,a hole in the ground--that was a cabin for you! Only by the smokecould you tell that a God-created man lived there. You ask why theylived so? It was not entirely through poverty: almost every one led araiding Cossack life, and gathered not a little plunder in foreignlands; it was rather because it was little use building up a goodwooden house. Many folk were engaged in raids all over thecountry--Crimeans, Poles, Lithuanians! It was quite possible thattheir own countrymen might make a descent and plunder everything.Anything was possible.

In this hamlet a man, or rather a devil in human form, often made hisappearance. Why he came, and whence, no one knew. He prowled about,got drunk, and suddenly disappeared as if into the air, leaving notrace of his existence. Then, behold, he seemed to have dropped fromthe sky again, and went flying about the street of the village, ofwhich no trace now remains, and which was not more than a hundredpaces from Dikanka. He would collect together all the Cossacks he met;then there were songs, laughter, and cash in plenty, and vodka flowedlike water. . . . He would address the pretty girls, and give themribbons, earrings, strings of beads--more than they knew what to dowith. It is true that the pretty girls rather hesitated aboutaccepting his presents: God knows, perhaps, what unclean hands theyhad passed through. My grandfather's aunt, who kept at that time atavern, in which Basavriuk (as they called this devil-man) oftencaroused, said that no consideration on the earth would have inducedher to accept a gift from him. But then, again, how avoid accepting?Fear seized on every one when he knit his shaggy brows, and gave asidelong glance which might send your feet God knows whither: whilstif you did accept, then the next night some fiend from the swamp, withhorns on his head, came and began to squeeze your neck, if there was astring of beads upon it; or bite your finger, if there was a ring uponit; or drag you by the hair, if ribbons were braided in it. God havemercy, then, on those who held such gifts! But here was thedifficulty: it was impossible to get rid of them; if you threw theminto the water, the diabolical ring or necklace would skim along thesurface and into your hand.

There was a church in the village--St. Pantelei, if I rememberrightly. There lived there a priest, Father Athanasii of blessedmemory. Observing that Basavriuk did not come to church, even atEaster, he determined to reprove him and impose penance upon him.Well, he hardly escaped with his life. "Hark ye, sir!" he thundered inreply, "learn to mind your own business instead of meddling in otherpeople's, if you don't want that throat of yours stuck with boilingkutya[1]." What was to be done with this unrepentant man? FatherAthanasii contented himself with announcing that any one who shouldmake the acquaintance of Basavriuk would be counted a Catholic, anenemy of Christ's orthodox church, not a member of the human race.

[1] A dish of rice or wheat flour, with honey and raisins, which is brought to the church on the celebration of memorial masses.

In this village there was a Cossack named Korzh, who had a labourerwhom people called Peter the Orphan--perhaps because no one rememberedeither his father or mother. The church elder, it is true, said thatthey had died of the pest in his second year; but my grandfather'saunt would not hear of that, and tried with all her might to furnishhim with parents, although poor Peter needed them about as much as weneed last year's snow. She said that his father had been in Zaporozhe,and had been taken prisoner by the Turks, amongst whom he underwentGod only knows what tortures, until having, by some miracle, disguisedhimself as a eunuch, he made his escape. Little cared the black-browedyouths and maidens about Peter's parents. They merely remarked, thatif he only had a new coat, a red sash, a black lambskin cap with asmart blue crown on his head, a Turkish sabre by his side, a whip inone hand and a pipe with handsome mountings in the other, he wouldsurpass all the young men. But the pity was, that the only thing poorPeter had was a grey gaberdine with more holes in it than there aregold pieces in a Jew's pocket. But that was not the worst of it. Korzhhad a daughter, such a beauty as I think you can hardly have chancedto see. My grandfather's aunt used to say--and you know that it iseasier for a woman to kiss the Evil One than to call any one else abeauty--that this Cossack maiden's cheeks were as plump and fresh asthe pinkest poppy when, bathed in God's dew, it unfolds its petals,and coquets with the rising sun; that her brows were evenly archedover her bright eyes like black cords, such as our maidens buynowadays, for their crosses and ducats, off the Moscow pedlars whovisit the villages with their baskets; that her little mouth, at sightof which the youths smacked their lips, seemed made to warble thesongs of nightingales; that her hair, black as the raven's wing, andsoft as young flax, fell in curls over her shoulders, for our maidensdid not then plait their hair in pigtails interwoven with pretty,bright-hued ribbons. Eh! may I never intone another alleluia in thechoir, if I would not have kissed her, in spite of the grey which ismaking its way through the old wool which covers my pate, and of theold woman beside me, like a thorn in my side! Well, you know whathappens when young men and maidens live side by side. In the twilightthe heels of red boots were always visible in the place where Pidorkachatted with her Peter. But Korzh would never have suspected anythingout of the way, only one day--it is evident that none but the Evil Onecould have inspired him--Peter took into his head to kiss the maiden'srosy lips with all his heart, without first looking well about him;and that same Evil One--may the son of a dog dream of the holycross!--caused the old grey-beard, like a fool, to open the cottagedoor at that same moment. Korzh was petrified, dropped his jaw, andclutched at the door for support. Those unlucky kisses completelystunned him.

Recovering himself, he took his grandfather's hunting whip from thewall, and was about to belabour Peter's back with it, when Pidorka'slittle six-year-old brother Ivas rushed up from somewhere or other,and, grasping his father's legs with his little hands, screamed out,"Daddy, daddy! don't beat Peter!" What was to be done? A father'sheart is not made of stone. Hanging the whip again on the wall, he ledPeter quietly from the house. "If you ever show yourself in my cottageagain, or even under the windows, look out, Peter, for, by heaven,your black moustache will disappear; and your black locks, thoughwound twice about your ears, will take leave of your pate, or my nameis not Terentiy Korzh." So saying, he gave him such a taste of hisfist in the nape of his neck, that all grew dark before Peter, and heflew headlong out of the place.

So there was an end of their kissing. Sorrow fell upon our turtledoves; and a rumour grew rife in the village that a certain Pole, allembroidered with gold, with moustaches, sabre, spurs, and pocketsjingling like the bells of the bag with which our sacristan Taras goesthrough the church every day, had begun to frequent Korzh's house.Now, it is well known why a father has visitors when there is ablack-browed daughter about. So, one day, Pidorka burst into tears,and caught the hand of her brother Ivas. "Ivas, my dear! Ivas, mylove! fly to Peter, my child of gold, like an arrow from a bow. Tellhim all: I would have loved his brown eyes, I would have kissed hisfair face, but my fate decrees otherwise. More than one handkerchiefhave I wet with burning tears. I am sad and heavy at heart. And my ownfather is my enemy. I will not marry the Pole, whom I do not love.Tell him they are making ready for a wedding, but there will be nomusic at our wedding: priests will sing instead of pipes and viols. Ishall not dance with my bridegroom: they will carry me out. Dark, darkwill be my dwelling of maple wood; and, instead of chimneys, a crosswill stand upon the roof."

Peter stood petrified, without moving from the spot, when the innocentchild lisped out Pidorka's words to him. "And I, wretched man, hadthought to go to the Crimea and Turkey, to win gold and return tothee, my beauty! But it may not be. We have been overlooked by theevil eye. I too shall have a wedding, dear one; but no ecclesiasticswill be present at that wedding. The black crow instead of the popewill caw over me; the bare plain will be my dwelling; the dark bluecloud my roof-tree. The eagle will claw out my brown eyes: the rainwill wash my Cossack bones, and the whirlwinds dry them. But what amI? Of what should I complain? 'Tis clear God willed it so. If I am tobe lost, then so be it!" and he went straight to the tavern.

My late grandfather's aunt was somewhat surprised at seeing Peter atthe tavern, at an hour when good men go to morning mass; and stared athim as though in a dream when he called for a jug of brandy, abouthalf a pailful. But the poor fellow tried in vain to drown his woe.The vodka stung his tongue like nettles, and tasted more bitter thanwormwood. He flung the jug from him upon the ground.

"You have sorrowed enough, Cossack," growled a bass voice behind him.He looked round--it was Basavriuk! Ugh, what a face! His hair was likea brush, his eyes like those of a bull. "I know what you lack: here itis." As he spoke he jingled a leather purse which hung from his girdleand smiled diabolically. Peter shuddered. "Ha, ha, ha! how it shines!"he roared, shaking out ducats into his hands: "ha, ha, ha! how itjingles! And I only ask one thing for a whole pile of such shiners."

They struck hands upon it, and Basavriuk said, "You are just in time,Peter: to-morrow is St. John the Baptist's day. Only on this one nightin the year does the fern blossom. I will await you at midnight in theBear's ravine."

I do not believe that chickens await the hour when the housewifebrings their corn with as much anxiety as Peter awaited the evening.He kept looking to see whether the shadows of the trees were notlengthening, whether the sun was not turning red towards setting; and,the longer he watched, the more impatient he grew. How long it was!Evidently, God's day had lost its end somewhere. But now the sun hasset. The sky is red only on one side, and it is already growing dark.It grows colder in the fields. It gets gloomier and gloomier, and atlast quite dark. At last! With heart almost bursting from his bosom,he set out and cautiously made his way down through the thick woodsinto the deep hollow called the Bear's ravine. Basavriuk was alreadywaiting there. It was so dark that you could not see a yard beforeyou. Hand in hand they entered the ravine, pushing through theluxuriant thorn-bushes and stumbling at almost every step. At lastthey reached an open spot. Peter looked about him: he had neverchanced to come there before. Here Basavriuk halted.

"Do you see before you three hillocks? There are a great many kinds offlowers upon them. May some power keep you from plucking even one ofthem. But as soon as the fern blossoms, seize it, and look not round,no matter what may seem to be going on behind thee."

Peter wanted to ask some questions, but behold Basavriuk was no longerthere. He approached the three hillocks--where were the flowers? Hesaw none. The wild steppe-grass grew all around, and hid everything inits luxuriance. But the lightning flashed; and before him was a wholebed of flowers, all wonderful, all strange: whilst amongst them therewere also the simple fronds of fern. Peter doubted his senses, andstood thoughtfully before them, arms akimbo.

"What manner of prodigy is this? why, one can see these weeds tentimes a day. What is there marvellous about them? Devil's face must bemocking me!"

But behold! the tiny flower-bud of the fern reddened and moved asthough alive. It was a marvel in truth. It grew larger and larger, andglowed like a burning coal. The tiny stars of light flashed up,something burst softly, and the flower opened before his eyes like aflame, lighting the others about it.

"Now is the time," thought Peter, and extended his hand. He sawhundreds of hairy hands reach also for the flower from behind him, andthere was a sound of scampering in his rear. He half closed his eyes,and plucked sharply at the stalk, and the flower remained in his hand.

All became still.

Upon a stump sat Basavriuk, quite blue like a corpse. He did not moveso much as a finger. Hi eyes were immovably fixed on something visibleto him alone; his mouth was half open and speechless. Nothing stirredaround. Ugh! it was horrible! But then a whistle was heard which madePeter's heart grow cold within him; and it seemed to him that thegrass whispered, and the flowers began to talk among themselves indelicate voices, like little silver bells, while the trees rustled inmurmuring contention;--Basavriuk's face suddenly became full of life,and his eyes sparkled. "The witch has just returned," he mutteredbetween his teeth. "Hearken, Peter: a charmer will stand before you ina moment; do whatever she commands; if not--you are lost forever."

Then he parted the thorn-bushes with a knotty stick and before himstood a tiny farmhouse. Basavriuk smote it with his fist, and the walltrembled. A large black dog ran out to meet them, and with a whinetransformed itself into a cat and flew straight at his eyes.

"Don't be angry, don't be angry, you old Satan!" said Basavriuk,employing such words as would have made a good man stop his ears.Behold, instead of a cat, an old woman all bent into a bow, with aface wrinkled like a baked apple, and a nose and chin like a pair ofnutcrackers.

"A fine charmer!" thought Peter; and cold chills ran down his back.The witch tore the flower from his hand, stooped and muttered over itfor a long time, sprinkling it with some kind of water. Sparks flewfrom her mouth, and foam appeared on her lips.

"Throw it away," she said, giving it back to Peter.

Peter threw it, but what wonder was this? The flower did not fallstraight to the earth, but for a long while twinkled like a fiery ballthrough the darkness, and swam through the air like a boat. At last itbegan to sink lower and lower, and fell so far away that the littlestar, hardly larger than a poppy-seed, was barely visible. "There!"croaked the old woman, in a dull voice: and Basavriuk, giving him aspade, said, "Dig here, Peter: you will find more gold than you orKorzh ever dreamed of."

Peter spat on his hands, seized the spade, pressed his foot on it, andturned up the earth, a second, a third, a fourth time. The spadeclinked against something hard, and would go no further. Then his eyesbegan to distinguish a small, iron-bound coffer. He tried to seize it;but the chest began to sink into the earth, deeper, farther, anddeeper still: whilst behind him he heard a laugh like a serpent'shiss.

"No, you shall not have the gold until you shed human blood," said thewitch, and she led up to him a child of six, covered with a whitesheet, and indicated by a sign that he was to cut off his head.

Peter was stunned. A trifle, indeed, to cut off a man's, or even aninnocent child's, head for no reason whatever! In wrath he tore offthe sheet enveloping the victim's head, and behold! before him stoodIvas. The poor child crossed his little hands, and hung his head.Peter flew at the witch with the knife like a madman, and was on thepoint of laying hands on her.

"What did you promise for the girl?" thundered Basavriuk; and like ashot he was on his back. The witch stamped her foot: a blue flameflashed from the earth and illumined all within it. The earth becametransparent as if moulded of crystal; and all that was within itbecame visible, as if in the palm of the hand. Ducats, precious stonesin chests and pots, were piled in heaps beneath the very spot theystood on. Peter's eyes flashed, his mind grew troubled. . . . Hegrasped the knife like a madman, and the innocent blood spurted intohis eyes. Diabolical laughter resounded on all sides. Misshapenmonsters flew past him in flocks. The witch, fastening her hands inthe headless trunk, like a wolf, drank its blood. His head whirled.Collecting all his strength, he set out to run. Everything grew redbefore him. The trees seemed steeped in blood, and burned and groaned.The sky glowed and threatened. Burning points, like lightning,flickered before his eyes. Utterly exhausted, he rushed into hismiserable hovel and fell to the ground like a log. A death-like sleepoverpowered him.

Two days and two nights did Peter sleep, without once awakening. Whenhe came to himself, on the third day, he looked long at all thecorners of his hut, but in vain did he endeavour to recollect what hadtaken place; his memory was like a miser's pocket, from which youcannot entice a quarter of a kopek. Stretching himself, he heardsomething clash at his feet. He looked, there were two bags of gold.Then only, as if in a dream, he recollected that he had been seekingfor treasure, and that something had frightened him in the woods.

Korzh saw the sacks--and was mollified. "A fine fellow, Peter, quiteunequalled! yes, and did I not love him? Was he not to me as my ownson?" And the old fellow repeated this fiction until he wept over ithimself. Pidorka began to tell Peter how some passing gipsies hadstolen Ivas; but he could not even recall him--to such a degree hadthe Devil's influence darkened his mind! There was no reason fordelay. The Pole was dismissed, and the wedding-feast prepared; rollswere baked, towels and handkerchiefs embroidered; the young peoplewere seated at table; the wedding-loaf was cut; guitars, cymbals,pipes, viols sounded, and pleasure was rife.

A wedding in the olden times was not like one of the present day. Mygrandfather's aunt used to tell how the maidens--in festivehead-dresses of yellow, blue, and pink ribbons, above which they boundgold braid; in thin chemisettes embroidered on all the seams with redsilk, and strewn with tiny silver flowers; in morocco shoes, with highiron heels--danced the gorlitza as swimmingly as peacocks, and aswildly as the whirlwind; how the youths--with their ship-shaped capsupon their heads, the crowns of gold brocade, and two hornsprojecting, one in front and another behind, of the very finest blacklambskin; in tunics of the finest blue silk with red borders--steppedforward one by one, their arms akimbo in stately form, and executedthe gopak; how the lads--in tall Cossack caps, and light clothgaberdines, girt with silver embroidered belts, their short pipes intheir teeth--skipped before them and talked nonsense. Even Korzh as hegazed at the young people could not help getting gay in his old age.Guitar in hand, alternately puffing at his pipe and singing, abrandy-glass upon his head, the greybeard began the national danceamid loud shouts from the merry-makers.

What will not people devise in merry mood? They even began to disguisetheir faces till they did not look like human beings. On suchoccasions one would dress himself as a Jew, another as the Devil: theywould begin by kissing each other, and end by seizing each other bythe hair. God be with them! you laughed till you held your sides. Theydressed themselves in Turkish and Tatar garments. All upon them glowedlike a conflagration, and then they began to joke and playpranks. . . .

An amusing thing happened to my grandfather's aunt, who was at thiswedding. She was wearing an ample Tatar robe, and, wine-glass in hand,was entertaining the company. The Evil One instigated one man to pourvodka over her from behind. Another, at the same moment, evidently notby accident, struck a light, and held it to her. The flame flashed up,and poor aunt, in terror, flung her dress off, before them all.Screams, laughter, jests, arose as if at a fair. In a word, the oldfolks could not recall so merry a wedding.

Pidorka and Peter began to live like a gentleman and lady. There wasplenty of everything and everything was fine. . . . But honest folkshook their heads when they marked their way of living. "From theDevil no good can come," they unanimously agreed. "Whence, except fromthe tempter of orthodox people, came this wealth? Where else could hehave got such a lot of gold from? Why, on the very day that he gotrich, did Basavriuk vanish as if into thin air?"

Say, if you can, that people only imagine things! A month had notpassed, and no one would have recognised Peter. He sat in one spot,saying no word to any one; but continually thinking and seeminglytrying to recall something. When Pidorka succeeded in getting him tospeak, he appeared to forget himself, and would carry on aconversation, and even grow cheerful; but if he inadvertently glancedat the sacks, "Stop, stop! I have forgotten," he would cry, and againplunge into reverie and strive to recall something. Sometimes when hesat still a long time in one place, it seemed to him as though it werecoming, just coming back to mind, but again all would fade away. Itseemed as if he was sitting in the tavern: they brought him vodka;vodka stung him; vodka was repulsive to him. Some one came along andstruck him on the shoulder; but beyond that everything was veiled indarkness before him. The perspiration would stream down his face, andhe would sit exhausted in the same place.

What did not Pirdorka do? She consulted the sorceresses; and theypoured out fear, and brewed stomach ache[2]--but all to no avail. Andso the summer passed. Many a Cossack had mowed and reaped; many aCossack, more enterprising than the rest, had set off upon anexpedition. Flocks of ducks were already crowding the marshes, butthere was not even a hint of improvement.

[2] "To pour out fear" refers to a practice resorted to in case of fear. When it is desired to know what caused this, melted lead or wax is poured into water, and the object whose form it assumes is the one which frightened the sick person; after this, the fear departs. Sonyashnitza is brewed for giddiness and pain in the bowels. To this end, a bit of stump is burned, thrown into a jug, and turned upside down into a bowl filled with water, which is placed on the patient's stomach: after an incantation, he is given a spoonful of this water to drink.

It was red upon the steppes. Ricks of grain, like Cossack's caps,dotted the fields here and there. On the highway were to beencountered waggons loaded with brushwood and logs. The ground hadbecome more solid, and in places was touched with frost. Already hadthe snow begun to fall and the branches of the trees were covered withrime like rabbit-skin. Already on frosty days the robin redbreasthopped about on the snow-heaps like a foppish Polish nobleman, andpicked out grains of corn; and children, with huge sticks, playedhockey upon the ice; while their fathers lay quietly on the stove,issuing forth at intervals with lighted pipes in their lips, to growl,in regular fashion, at the orthodox frost, or to take the air, andthresh the grain spread out in the barn. At last the snow began tomelt, and the ice slipped away: but Peter remained the same; and, themore time went on, the more morose he grew. He sat in the cottage asthough nailed to the spot, with the sacks of gold at his feet. He grewaverse to companionship, his hair grew long, he became terrible tolook at; and still he thought of but one thing, still he tried torecall something, and got angry and ill-tempered because he could not.Often, rising wildly from his seat, he gesticulated violently andfixed his eyes on something as though desirous of catching it: hislips moving as though desirous of uttering some long-forgotten word,but remaining speechless. Fury would take possession of him: he wouldgnaw and bite his hands like a man half crazy, and in his vexationwould tear out his hair by the handful, until, calming down, he wouldrelapse into forgetfulness, as it were, and then would again strive torecall the past and be again seized with fury and fresh tortures. Whatvisitation of God was this?

Pidorka was neither dead not alive. At first it was horrible for herto remain alone with him in the cottage; but, in course of time, thepoor woman grew accustomed to her sorrow. But it was impossible torecognise the Pidorka of former days. No blushes, no smiles: she wasthin and worn with grief, and had wept her bright eyes away. Once someone who took pity on her advised her to go to the witch who dwelt inthe Bear's ravine, and enjoyed the reputation of being able to cureevery disease in the world. She determined to try that last remedy:and finally persuaded the old woman to come to her. This was on St.John's Eve, as it chanced. Peter lay insensible on the bench, and didnot observe the newcomer. Slowly he rose, and looked about him.Suddenly he trembled in every limb, as though he were on the scaffold:his hair rose upon his head, and he laughed a laugh that filledPidorka's heart with fear.

"I have remembered, remembered!" he cried, in terrible joy; and,swinging a hatchet round his head, he struck at the old woman with allhis might. The hatchet penetrated the oaken door nearly four inches.The old woman disappeared; and a child of seven, covered in a whitesheet, stood in the middle of the cottage. . . . The sheet flew off."Ivas!" cried Pidorka, and ran to him; but the apparition becamecovered from head to foot with blood, and illumined the whole roomwith red light. . . .

She ran into the passage in her terror, but, on recovering herself alittle, wished to help Peter. In vain! the door had slammed to behindher, so that she could not open it. People ran up, and began to knock:they broke in the door, as though there were but one mind among them.The whole cottage was full of smoke; and just in the middle, wherePeter had stood, was a heap of ashes whence smoke was still rising.They flung themselves upon the sacks: only broken potsherds lay thereinstead of ducats. The Cossacks stood with staring eyes and openmouths, as if rooted to the earth, not daring to move a hair, suchterror did this wonder inspire in them.

I do not remember what happened next. Pidorka made a vow to go upon apilgrimage, collected the property left her by her father, and in afew days it was as if she had never been in the village. Whither shehad gone, no one could tell. Officious old women would have despatchedher to the same place whither Peter had gone; but a Cossack from Kiefreported that he had seen, in a cloister, a nun withered to a mereskeleton who prayed unceasingly. Her fellow-villagers recognised heras Pidorka by the tokens--that no one heard her utter a word; and thatshe had come on foot, and had brought a frame for the picture of God'smother, set with such brilliant stones that all were dazzled at thesight.

But this was not the end, if you please. On the same day that the EvilOne made away with Peter, Basavriuk appeared again; but all fled fromhim. They knew what sort of a being he was--none else than Satan, whohad assumed human form in order to unearth treasures; and, sincetreasures do not yield to unclean hands, he seduced the young. Thatsame year, all deserted their earthen huts and collected in a village;but even there there was no peace on account of that accursedBasavriuk.

My late grandfather's aunt said that he was particularly angry withher because she had abandoned her former tavern, and tried with allhis might to revenge himself upon her. Once the village elders wereassembled in the tavern, and, as the saying goes, were arranging theprecedence at the table, in the middle of which was placed a smallroasted lamb, shame to say. They chattered about this, that, and theother--among the rest about various marvels and strange things. Well,they saw something; it would have been nothing if only one had seenit, but all saw it, and it was this: the sheep raised his head, hisgoggling eyes became alive and sparkled; and the black, bristlingmoustache, which appeared for one instant, made a significant gestureat those present. All at once recognised Basavriuk's countenance inthe sheep's head; my grandfather's aunt thought it was on the point ofasking for vodka. The worthy elders seized their hats and hastenedhome.

Another time, the church elder himself, who was fond of an occasionalprivate interview with my grandfather's brandy-glass, had notsucceeded in getting to the bottom twice, when he beheld the glassbowing very low to him. "Satan take you, let us make the sign of thecross over you!"--And the same marvel happened to his better half. Shehad just begun to mix the dough in a huge kneading-trough whensuddenly the trough sprang up. "Stop, stop! where are you going?"Putting its arms akimbo, with dignity, it went skipping all about thecottage--you may laugh, but it was no laughing matter to ourgrandfathers. And in vain did Father Athanasii go through all thevillage with holy water, and chase the Devil through all the streetswith his brush. My late grandfather's aunt long complained that, assoon as it was dark, some one came knocking at her door and scratchingat the wall.

Well! All appears to be quiet now in the place where our villagestands; but it was not so very long ago--my father was stillalive--that I remember how a good man could not pass the ruined tavernwhich a dishonest race had long managed for their own interest. Fromthe smoke-blackened chimneys smoke poured out in a pillar, and risinghigh in the air, rolled off like a cap, scattering burning coals overthe steppe; and Satan (the son of a dog should not be mentioned)sobbed so pitifully in his lair that the startled ravens rose inflocks from the neighbouring oak-wood and flew through the air withwild cries.

THE CLOAK

In the department of--but it is better not to mention the department.There is nothing more irritable than departments, regiments, courts ofjustice, and, in a word, every branch of public service. Eachindividual attached to them nowadays thinks all society insulted inhis person. Quite recently a complaint was received from a justice ofthe peace, in which he plainly demonstrated that all the imperialinstitutions were going to the dogs, and that the Czar's sacred namewas being taken in vain; and in proof he appended to the complaint aromance in which the justice of the peace is made to appear about onceevery ten lines, and sometimes in a drunken condition. Therefore, inorder to avoid all unpleasantness, it will be better to describe thedepartment in question only as a certain department.

So, in a certain department there was a certain official--not a veryhigh one, it must be allowed--short of stature, somewhat pock-marked,red-haired, and short-sighted, with a bald forehead, wrinkled cheeks,and a complexion of the kind known as sanguine. The St. Petersburgclimate was responsible for this. As for his official status, he waswhat is called a perpetual titular councillor, over which, as is wellknown, some writers make merry, and crack their jokes, obeying thepraiseworthy custom of attacking those who cannot bite back.

His family name was Bashmatchkin. This name is evidently derived from"bashmak" (shoe); but when, at what time, and in what manner, is notknown. His father and grandfather, and all the Bashmatchkins, alwayswore boots, which only had new heels two or three times a year. Hisname was Akakiy Akakievitch. It may strike the reader as rathersingular and far-fetched, but he may rest assured that it was by nomeans far-fetched, and that the circumstances were such that it wouldhave been impossible to give him any other.

This is how it came about.

Akakiy Akakievitch was born, if my memory fails me not, in the eveningof the 23rd of March. His mother, the wife of a Government officialand a very fine woman, made all due arrangements for having the childbaptised. She was lying on the bed opposite the door; on her rightstood the godfather, Ivan Ivanovitch Eroshkin, a most estimable man,who served as presiding officer of the senate, while the godmother,Anna Semenovna Byelobrushkova, the wife of an officer of the quarter,and a woman of rare virtues. They offered the mother her choice ofthree names, Mokiya, Sossiya, or that the child should be called afterthe martyr Khozdazat. "No," said the good woman, "all those names arepoor." In order to please her they opened the calendar to anotherplace; three more names appeared, Triphiliy, Dula, and Varakhasiy."This is a judgment," said the old woman. "What names! I truly neverheard the like. Varada or Varukh might have been borne, but notTriphiliy and Varakhasiy!" They turned to another page and foundPavsikakhiy and Vakhtisiy. "Now I see," said the old woman, "that itis plainly fate. And since such is the case, it will be better to namehim after his father. His father's name was Akakiy, so let his son'sbe Akakiy too." In this manner he became Akakiy Akakievitch. Theychristened the child, whereat he wept and made a grimace, as though heforesaw that he was to be a titular councillor.

In this manner did it all come about. We have mentioned it in orderthat the reader might see for himself that it was a case of necessity,and that it was utterly impossible to give him any other name. Whenand how he entered the department, and who appointed him, no one couldremember. However much the directors and chiefs of all kinds werechanged, he was always to be seen in the same place, the sameattitude, the same occupation; so that it was afterwards affirmed thathe had been born in undress uniform with a bald head. No respect wasshown him in the department. The porter not only did not rise from hisseat when he passed, but never even glanced at him, any more than if afly had flown through the reception-room. His superiors treated him incoolly despotic fashion. Some sub-chief would thrust a paper under hisnose without so much as saying, "Copy," or "Here's a nice interestingaffair," or anything else agreeable, as is customary amongst well-bredofficials. And he took it, looking only at the paper and not observingwho handed it to him, or whether he had the right to do so; simplytook it, and set about copying it.

The young officials laughed at and made fun of him, so far as theirofficial wit permitted; told in his presence various stories concoctedabout him, and about his landlady, an old woman of seventy; declaredthat she beat him; asked when the wedding was to be; and strewed bitsof paper over his head, calling them snow. But Akakiy Akakievitchanswered not a word, any more than if there had been no one therebesides himself. It even had no effect upon his work: amid all theseannoyances he never made a single mistake in a letter. But if thejoking became wholly unbearable, as when they jogged his hand andprevented his attending to his work, he would exclaim, "Leave mealone! Why do you insult me?" And there was something strange in thewords and the voice in which they were uttered. There was in itsomething which moved to pity; so much that one young man, anew-comer, who, taking pattern by the others, had permitted himself tomake sport of Akakiy, suddenly stopped short, as though all about himhad undergone a transformation, and presented itself in a differentaspect. Some unseen force repelled him from the comrades whoseacquaintance he had made, on the supposition that they were well-bredand polite men. Long afterwards, in his gayest moments, there recurredto his mind the little official with the bald forehead, with hisheart-rending words, "Leave me alone! Why do you insult me?" In thesemoving words, other words resounded--"I am thy brother." And the youngman covered his face with his hand; and many a time afterwards, in thecourse of his life, shuddered at seeing how much inhumanity there isin man, how much savage coarseness is concealed beneath delicate,refined worldliness, and even, O God! in that man whom the worldacknowledges as honourable and noble.

It would be difficult to find another man who lived so entirely forhis duties. It is not enough to say that Akakiy laboured with zeal:no, he laboured with love. In his copying, he found a varied andagreeable employment. Enjoyment was written on his face: some letterswere even favourites with him; and when he encountered these, hesmiled, winked, and worked with his lips, till it seemed as thougheach letter might be read in his face, as his pen traced it. If hispay had been in proportion to his zeal, he would, perhaps, to hisgreat surprise, have been made even a councillor of state. But heworked, as his companions, the wits, put it, like a horse in a mill.

Moreover, it is impossible to say that no attention was paid to him.One director being a kindly man, and desirous of rewarding him for hislong service, ordered him to be given something more important thanmere copying. So he was ordered to make a report of an alreadyconcluded affair to another department: the duty consisting simply inchanging the heading and altering a few words from the first to thethird person. This caused him so much toil that he broke into aperspiration, rubbed his forehead, and finally said, "No, give merather something to copy." After that they let him copy on forever.

Outside this copying, it appeared that nothing existed for him. Hegave no thought to his clothes: his undress uniform was not green, buta sort of rusty-meal colour. The collar was low, so that his neck, inspite of the fact that it was not long, seemed inordinately so as itemerged from it, like the necks of those plaster cats which wag theirheads, and are carried about upon the heads of scores of imagesellers. And something was always sticking to his uniform, either abit of hay or some trifle. Moreover, he had a peculiar knack, as hewalked along the street, of arriving beneath a window just as allsorts of rubbish were being flung out of it: hence he always boreabout on his hat scraps of melon rinds and other such articles. Neveronce in his life did he give heed to what was going on every day inthe street; while it is well known that his young brother officialstrain the range of their glances till they can see when any one'strouser straps come undone upon the opposite sidewalk, which alwaysbrings a malicious smile to their faces. But Akakiy Akakievitch saw inall things the clean, even strokes of his written lines; and only whena horse thrust his nose, from some unknown quarter, over his shoulder,and sent a whole gust of wind down his neck from his nostrils, did heobserve that he was not in the middle of a page, but in the middle ofthe street.

On reaching home, he sat down at once at the table, supped his cabbagesoup up quickly, and swallowed a bit of beef with onions, nevernoticing their taste, and gulping down everything with flies andanything else which the Lord happened to send at the moment. Hisstomach filled, he rose from the table, and copied papers which he hadbrought home. If there happened to be none, he took copies forhimself, for his own gratification, especially if the document wasnoteworthy, not on account of its style, but of its being addressed tosome distinguished person.

Even at the hour when the grey St. Petersburg sky had quite dispersed,and all the official world had eaten or dined, each as he could, inaccordance with the salary he received and his own fancy; when allwere resting from the departmental jar of pens, running to and frofrom their own and other people's indispensable occupations, and fromall the work that an uneasy man makes willingly for himself, ratherthan what is necessary; when officials hasten to dedicate to pleasurethe time which is left to them, one bolder than the rest going to thetheatre; another, into the street looking under all the bonnets;another wasting his evening in compliments to some pretty girl, thestar of a small official circle; another--and this is the common caseof all--visiting his comrades on the fourth or third floor, in twosmall rooms with an ante-room or kitchen, and some pretensions tofashion, such as a lamp or some other trifle which has cost many asacrifice of dinner or pleasure trip; in a word, at the hour when allofficials disperse among the contracted quarters of their friends, toplay whist, as they sip their tea from glasses with a kopek's worth ofsugar, smoke long pipes, relate at times some bits of gossip which aRussian man can never, under any circumstances, refrain from, and,when there is nothing else to talk of, repeat eternal anecdotes aboutthe commandant to whom they had sent word that the tails of the horseson the Falconet Monument had been cut off, when all strive to divertthemselves, Akakiy Akakievitch indulged in no kind of diversion. Noone could ever say that he had seen him at any kind of evening party.Having written to his heart's content, he lay down to sleep, smilingat the thought of the coming day--of what God might send him to copyon the morrow.

Thus flowed on the peaceful life of the man, who, with a salary offour hundred rubles, understood how to be content with his lot; andthus it would have continued to flow on, perhaps, to extreme old age,were it not that there are various ills strewn along the path of lifefor titular councillors as well as for private, actual, court, andevery other species of councillor, even for those who never give anyadvice or take any themselves.

There exists in St. Petersburg a powerful foe of all who receive asalary of four hundred rubles a year, or thereabouts. This foe is noother than the Northern cold, although it is said to be very healthy.At nine o'clock in the morning, at the very hour when the streets arefilled with men bound for the various official departments, it beginsto bestow such powerful and piercing nips on all noses impartiallythat the poor officials really do not know what to do with them. At anhour when the foreheads of even those who occupy exalted positionsache with the cold, and tears start to their eyes, the poor titularcouncillors are sometimes quite unprotected. Their only salvation liesin traversing as quickly as possible, in their thin little cloaks,five or six streets, and then warming their feet in the porter's room,and so thawing all their talents and qualifications for officialservice, which had become frozen on the way.

Akakiy Akakievitch had felt for some time that his back and shoulderssuffered with peculiar poignancy, in spite of the fact that he triedto traverse the distance with all possible speed. He began finally towonder whether the fault did not lie in his cloak. He examined itthoroughly at home, and discovered that in two places, namely, on theback and shoulders, it had become thin as gauze: the cloth was worn tosuch a degree that he could see through it, and the lining had falleninto pieces. You must know that Akakiy Akakievitch's cloak served asan object of ridicule to the officials: they even refused it the noblename of cloak, and called it a cape. In fact, it was of singular make:its collar diminishing year by year, but serving to patch its otherparts. The patching did not exhibit great skill on the part of thetailor, and was, in fact, baggy and ugly. Seeing how the matter stood,Akakiy Akakievitch decided that it would be necessary to take thecloak to Petrovitch, the tailor, who lived somewhere on the fourthfloor up a dark stair-case, and who, in spite of his having but oneeye, and pock-marks all over his face, busied himself withconsiderable success in repairing the trousers and coats of officialsand others; that is to say, when he was sober and not nursing someother scheme in his head.

It is not necessary to say much about this tailor; but, as it is thecustom to have the character of each personage in a novel clearlydefined, there is no help for it, so here is Petrovitch the tailor. Atfirst he was called only Grigoriy, and was some gentleman's serf; hecommenced calling himself Petrovitch from the time when he receivedhis free papers, and further began to drink heavily on all holidays,at first on the great ones, and then on all church festivities withoutdiscrimination, wherever a cross stood in the calendar. On this pointhe was faithful to ancestral custom; and when quarrelling with hiswife, he called her a low female and a German. As we have mentionedhis wife, it will be necessary to say a word or two about her.Unfortunately, little is known of her beyond the fact that Petrovitchhas a wife, who wears a cap and a dress; but cannot lay claim tobeauty, at least, no one but the soldiers of the guard even lookedunder her cap when they met her.

Ascending the staircase which led to Petrovitch's room--whichstaircase was all soaked with dish-water, and reeked with the smell ofspirits which affects the eyes, and is an inevitable adjunct to alldark stairways in St. Petersburg houses--ascending the stairs, AkakiyAkakievitch pondered how much Petrovitch would ask, and mentallyresolved not to give more than two rubles. The door was open; for themistress, in cooking some fish, had raised such a smoke in the kitchenthat not even the beetles were visible. Akakiy Akakievitch passedthrough the kitchen unperceived, even by the housewife, and at lengthreached a room where he beheld Petrovitch seated on a large unpaintedtable, with his legs tucked under him like a Turkish pasha. His feetwere bare, after the fashion of tailors who sit at work; and the firstthing which caught the eye was his thumb, with a deformed nail thickand strong as a turtle's shell. About Petrovitch's neck hung a skeinof silk and thread, and upon his knees lay some old garment. He hadbeen trying unsuccessfully for three minutes to thread his needle, andwas enraged at the darkness and even at the thread, growling in a lowvoice, "It won't go through, the barbarian! you pricked me, yourascal!"

Akakiy Akakievitch was vexed at arriving at the precise moment whenPetrovitch was angry; he liked to order something of Petrovitch whenthe latter was a little downhearted, or, as his wife expressed it,"when he had settled himself with brandy, the one-eyed devil!" Undersuch circumstances, Petrovitch generally came down in his price veryreadily, and even bowed and returned thanks. Afterwards, to be sure,his wife would come, complaining that her husband was drunk, and sohad fixed the price too low; but, if only a ten-kopek piece wereadded, then the matter was settled. But now it appeared thatPetrovitch was in a sober condition, and therefore rough, taciturn,and inclined to demand, Satan only knows what price. AkakiyAkakievitch felt this, and would gladly have beat a retreat; but hewas in for it. Petrovitch screwed up his one eye very intently at him,and Akakiy Akakievitch involuntarily said: "How do you do,Petrovitch?"

"I wish you a good morning, sir," said Petrovitch, squinting at AkakiyAkakievitch's hands, to see what sort of booty he had brought.

"Ah! I--to you, Petrovitch, this--" It must be known that AkakiyAkakievitch expressed himself chiefly by prepositions, adverbs, andscraps of phrases which had no meaning whatever. If the matter was avery difficult one, he had a habit of never completing his sentences;so that frequently, having begun a phrase with the words, "This, infact, is quite--" he forgot to go on, thinking that he had alreadyfinished it.

"What is it?" asked Petrovitch, and with his one eye scannedAkakievitch's whole uniform from the collar down to the cuffs, theback, the tails and the button-holes, all of which were well known tohim, since they were his own handiwork. Such is the habit of tailors;it is the first thing they do on meeting one.

"But I, here, this--Petrovitch--a cloak, cloth--here you see,everywhere, in different places, it is quite strong--it is a littledusty, and looks old, but it is new, only here in one place it is alittle--on the back, and here on one of the shoulders, it is a littleworn, yes, here on this shoulder it is a little--do you see? that isall. And a little work--"

Petrovitch took the cloak, spread it out, to begin with, on the table,looked hard at it, shook his head, reached out his hand to thewindow-sill for his snuff-box, adorned with the portrait of somegeneral, though what general is unknown, for the place where the faceshould have been had been rubbed through by the finger, and a squarebit of paper had been pasted over it. Having taken a pinch of snuff,Petrovitch held up the cloak, and inspected it against the light, andagain shook his head once more. After which he again lifted thegeneral-adorned lid with its bit of pasted paper, and having stuffedhis nose with snuff, closed and put away the snuff-box, and saidfinally, "No, it is impossible to mend it; it's a wretched garment!"